


Around, Around

by arrow (esteefee)



Category: due South
Genre: April Showers Challenge, Chromatic Character, Episode Tag, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-06
Updated: 2008-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-17 12:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric stays to say thank you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Around, Around

**Author's Note:**

> This is for zabira, secretlybronte, ifreet, leonandra and sisterofdream.
> 
> Missing Scene from _Mask_.

The rest of the family had already cleared out with David, and the masks were carefully packed and on their way back to their rightful home in the Territories. But Eric lingered, intending to leave no unfinished business behind him before returning home.

The Mountie appeared tired when he opened the door, but he didn't look all that surprised to see Eric waiting there on the floor next to the wolf.

"Eric," Fraser said. Eric could tell by the half smile that he already knew about the switch. Probably he'd known even as he'd let David and Eric escape from the museum. Eric wasn't surprised. He was right, when he'd said the Mountie hadn't changed. He should have known that. Maybe he could even have trusted Fraser earlier, but trust didn't come easily to him, and the matter was too important for his people.

"Hello, Mountie," he said.

"I'm surprised to still find you here," Fraser said. A polite lie, like the many they had danced around for days now. But lies were no longer needed. The careful line had been kept, and they were safely through.

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not," Fraser agreed, nodding his head. He walked over to his closet and opened it to hang up the heavy blue coat, then pulled off his brown tunic and other trappings of the law—so many pieces and symbols layered on top of one another. Eric knew he wore them with pride, but waited until the Mountie parts were discarded and Ben was there, stripped down to shirt, pants and braces. Then Eric approached, and laid his hands on Ben's shoulders from behind.

Ben stiffened, then relaxed, as if he had to remind himself.

Eric nodded and squeezed. Ben's shoulders were broad now, not skinny as they were when he was a youth, a scrawny _kɫgum'ol_ unaware of his own growing strength. They had both shared so much anger back then, each toward his own people. That anger had brought them close, but eventually they had followed their expected paths.

Still, today when Eric had held the gun on him, Ben had surprised him. Eric should have remembered the fierce boy who'd wrestled with him until they both were bruised and bleeding, their cuts stinging in the heat of the sweat lodge afterward. Or remembered the man who'd faced death cold-eyed to avenge his father.

"You haven't changed," Eric said again. Ben turned and smiled.

"So you said. Nor have you." He tilted his head curiously. "Although I must say your ease with a pistol surprised me."

"It's difficult to get a rifle through customs."

"Ah." There was no condemnation in Ben's eyes, and Eric stepped close to watch them widen. Ben licked his lower lip, a habit he'd never seemed to be able to rid himself of. It made Eric smile, and he saw it reflected in the lifting of Ben's cheek.

"So," Ben said.

"So, Mountie. Are you ready for a sweat?"

Ben stepped back and stripped his clothes, and Eric followed. Earlier, in the sweat lodge, he'd appreciated Ben's body grown to manhood, but they'd been enemies then, or so Eric had thought.

He should have remembered.

He remembered it now, the smooth skin, hairless, like his, but so very pale. Eric drew his hands down Ben's chest, and Ben's head tilted back, exposing his throat.

It was a peculiarity of his that Eric had never understood—how the wolf gave in to the cub at a certain kind of touch. A touch Eric knew how to give, and enjoyed giving, closing his teeth hard on Ben's neck to feel him tremble.

He couldn't thank Ben for what he had done today—to do so would admit too much and endanger the balance. But this he could do—could lay Ben down on the bedding on the floor, could let his hair brush along Ben's belly, could suckle him and make him feel the heat under his own skin, the pulse of his life, until he cried out joyously and spilled between them.

Ben rolled to his stomach afterward, offering himself. It had been a long time since Eric had played these boys' games. He'd forgotten how wonderfully the muscled, tight band of heat could surround him, and how it felt to match power with power, thrust with thrust. Ben murmured his appreciation into the skin of his own forearm and clenched hard around him when Eric found the right rhythm, the right dance. In no time at all he found release, coming inside of Ben.

But if this much hadn't changed—the simple pleasure they found in each other—some things had. The skin of Ben's back was no longer perfect. By his spine there was a deep divot of red, a scar recently healed. As Ben relaxed facedown beside him on the bedroll, Eric put his hand over it. It felt warm with evil.

Ben shivered when he touched it, confirming Eric's belief.

"What caused this, Ben?"

Ben didn't quite shrug him off, but Eric could see the effort it cost him not to.

"Failure of duty," Ben said, his voice hoarse. "My failure."

Eric circled the scar once with his palm. Carefully, he skirted the subject that must remain unspoken between them. "It's not always possible to follow duty and not betray what is in your heart."

Ben obviously knew that, for the masks were now in the hands of Eric's people. And, indeed, when Ben looked over there was a soft smile on his face. Eric grinned back, and let his hand move away from the past, down to where Ben was still warm and wet from him. Eric played there in the way Ben had always liked, until Ben shook and moaned and turned on his side, pulling up one knee.

"Again?" Eric asked with a laugh.

"Again," Ben said. "Unless you're not up to it, old man."

Ah, a challenge from the Mountie. Eric moved over and straddled Ben's leg, saying in his ear, "I'll show you an old man," and entered him again. Ben groaned and laughed.

And so they went around, around.

///

Back home, his village built a great fire to celebrate. They opened a bottle of champagne and made a toast. _"To the masks."_ And though Eric could not say it out loud, he lifted his glass and made his own toast in his heart.

 _To Ben._

  
....................  
2008.04.06

**Author's Note:**

>  _kɫgum'ol_ — [Tsimshian for bear cub](http://smalgyax.unbc.ca/Dict_E/kuC9uABgum'ol_root_0.htm)


End file.
